by Loren Logsdon

During the 1970s at San Andreas Fault State University, there was a famous professor, a true legend who was both respected and feared, respected by his colleagues because of his reputation for rigor in his judgments and feared by students because his tests were impossibly difficult. His name was Orville Korkoff, Ph.D, and he believed in the letter of the law. Even more, he worshiped rigor the way a pig loves a mud puddle.

What gave Professor Korkoff such power was his unique multiple choice combination of academic jargon, semantic obfuscation, unctuous condescension, and rigorous intensity. He could use rigor like a blunt instrument.

Prof Korkoff was always the first at a faculty meeting to raise the flag of rigor, knowing when that banner is unfurled no respectable faculty member dast fail to come to attention and salute. Korkoff was highly intelligent but with a linear mind that caused him to compartmentalize life and other people. He was, to be honest, a bit of an intellectual snob. He was extremely judgmental of his colleagues and was known to make fun of them behind their back.

Furthermore, Korkoff did not hesitate to make pronouncements on any issue. There was that famous faculty meeting, when the topic for discussion was the attraction and retention of high powered faculty. Korkoff rose to his feet, looked off into the middle distance, and then said in an ex cathedra voice, “There is a sense in which we can say some kinds of things about that.”

During his seventh year at SAFS, when he was coming up for promotion, Korkoff hosted a dinner party for the select crème de la crème people at the university. He decided upon the perfect ice breaker. He hid 100 peanuts in their shell throughout his home. When all the guests had arrived, he announced there would be a peanut hunt, and dinner would be served when the guests had found all 100 peanuts.

Now this sort of a game can be exciting, but after about thirty minutes it becomes tiresome and downright boring, not to mention undignified. Picture upper crust university people down on all fours scurrying around looking for peanuts. When the guests had found 98 peanuts, some wanted to end the game. But Korkoff insisted that the remaining two peanuts had to be found. Provost Richter Scale tried to save the day by claiming that he had eaten those two peanuts. Korkoff asked to see the shells. Provost Scale could not produce the shells, so nothing would do except to find the remaining peanuts. Then, as Korkoff promised, dinner was served.

The best story about Korkoff, however, came in 1980. He had scheduled a major exam for the day before spring break, but four of his male students, who had not cracked a book all semester, persuaded him to postpone the exam until the first day back from break. Ordinarily Korkoff would not have been amenable to such a request; however, the students had enlisted the aid of Honey Mustard, who was Korkoff’s favorite student, to plead their case. Honey had been endowed with the charms and the power to turn men into swine, so Korkoff was porcine in her hands. He agreed to postpone the exam until the first day after spring break.

The four students, whose names will remain secret, were driving to Florida for spring break; consequently, they could have long study sessions while they were on the road. They also had the advantage of Honey Mustard’s class notes.

Their plan was perfect except for a slight problem. They had celebrated so much on the last night that they were wasted and in no shape to drive back to campus in time for the first day of classes. That meant they missed Korkoff’s exam, ordinarily a fatal mistake.

One of the students, who years later became a famous investment broker, invented what appeared to be a perfect story. On the way back, driving late at night, the lads had a flat tire. They discovered there was no spare. This was the time before cellphones, and they were stranded and could not get help until morning, making it impossible to get back to campus in time for the exam.

To the surprise of everyone, Korkoff allowed them to make up the exam. He put each lad in a separate room, handed each a copy of the 100 question multiple choice exam, and then left. The lads sailed through the test. Honey’s notes enabled them to answer each question with confidence, that is, until they came to the last question Korkoff had added strictly for their benefit:  Question 101. Which tire? a) the left front, b) the right front, c) the left rear, d) the right rear, e) none of the above.

Dr. Logsdon is the much-loved English professor who has inspired students at Western Illinois University and Eureka College for many years. He lives in Eureka with his wife, Mary, and writes a weekly story for the Woodford County News Bulletin.